


Three Espresso Shots, Before Said War

by velavelavela



Series: and the four of us will not betray (no money will shake us) [4]
Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, but like is that the right choice?, elena just wants peace, no!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velavelavela/pseuds/velavelavela
Summary: It goes like this: Anastasia Furan doesn’t want anything to do with Maximilian Nero.
Relationships: Anastasia Furan/Maximilian Nero, Elena Furan/Maximilian Nero
Series: and the four of us will not betray (no money will shake us) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719550
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Three Espresso Shots, Before Said War

Max is by himself this time as he navigates the Parisian Catacombs, because Diabolus has flown in first class from Turkey and Gregori has flown in on a private jet from his home in Russia. Max has made friends in and out of G.L.O.V.E., but of course, he has also made enemies. So the woman that would usually be toting him by the arm is now a luscious green of envy, and maybe that’s why she’s wearing the emerald cufflinks he gifted her last Christmas and talking to Gregori in quick Russian. Max doesn’t speak Russian very well, and she already speaks English through her slight lisp quick as a gunshot.

It goes like this: Anastasia Furan doesn’t want anything to do with Maximilian Nero.

Her spot is still right across from him, though, and as he takes a seat beside Diabolus, who, of course, has all the gossip (it’s always the bald ones!), the latter drags Max into a distracting conversation about darts.

He has won a tournament recently.

When Number One comes on the screen, shrouded in darkness and voice-changing-software, everyone hushes up and pays attention. And Anastasia leans on her elbow, her hair providing a dark, sleek curtain of separation between herself and Max. Her cufflinks glisten in chandelier light, sickly green. He wishes he had given them to Elena instead.

It goes like this: Elena’s meeting him outside a Parisian coffee shop not too far of a walk from the meeting. Anastasia doesn’t know about this-- they both have made sure.

After the meeting breaks up, Number One having proven that he is the best and most threatening villain on earth as usual, Diabolus stands and stretches his legs almost comically.

“Well Max,” he says.

“I’ll meet up with you later,” Max replies, taking a quick glance over to Anastasia packing up her satchel.

He retraces his steps out of the catacombs, noting the aesthetic of bones and dim candelabras, and makes his way to the cafe.

When he gets there, he sees a woman leaning against the wall: dark hair, pea coat the color of wine, hands gloved dark against the cold. The tell tale watery dimness of storm clouds paint her skin paler than usual, and if she is wearing any makeup, it does not conceal heavy bags beneath her eyes. But, she notices him nearly immediately, and her whisky brown eyes light up.

“You look like you just came from an evil council meeting, Max,” she tilts her head as he approaches, the grin that creeps onto her face lopsided, her cheeks jolly pink from the biting wind.

“I did.”

“You should dress normally. It wouldn’t kill you to wear a jumper.”

“To a  _ G.L.O.V.E. meeting _ ?”

“What, am I supposed to know what it’s like behind those doors? Baby’s been in the corner since birth.”

Max doesn’t know what it’s like to be the youngest of a gaggle of criminals. He imagines for a moment what it would be like to have Anastasia as an older sister and breathes a sigh of relief that he doesn’t.

“Let’s go inside,” Elena pushes off the wall and takes Max’s hand with her own gloved one, pulling him into the coffee shop. 

A bell on the door jingles as they come in. A barista with slicked back hair preparing a coffee for someone waiting at the end of the counter calls, “Bonjour!”

Elena and Max parrot in unison, and the two step over to a table near the tall windows of the front. The place is dimly lit and smells like sharp coffee and old books. The air feels almost textured to the lungs, heavy and warm. The walls hold paintings and photos, small bookshelves and flowerpots.

“So how was my sister?”

Max must have made a face because Elena laughs as she takes off her gloves by the slender fingers.

“I can’t help but feel like a teenager.”

“She’s just protective. Is all.”

Max and Elena both know that is not all. Anastasia has been nasty since the day Max stopped answering every provocative text message and email, every unprofessional fishhook, every prod for attention. Since Max stopped accepting the invitations to drink and dance barefoot on the rug, to spend the night in her New York City penthouse. Since Elena told her that she and Max are together. Since Christmas day a few weeks ago, when he had given her the emerald cufflinks and a bouquet of her favorite flowers to dampen the blow.

Anyway.

“I’ll get us coffee,” Max says, reaching in his pocket for his wallet and drawing out his debit card. 

Elena sits down as he approaches the counter. Max orders in French because of all languages, his father found that to be one of the most important ones, alongside Greek and Italian. His father liked variety, and Max remembers him cooking gnocchi one evening and messing it up disastrously in the garlic department, maybe the lemon one, too.

Elena gets something fancy with three espresso shots. Max gets plain black coffee. They are regulars when in town, which is a few times a year. It’s their top breakfast choice, a place Max never shared with Anastasia before he met Elena. 

He pays and brings the drinks back to the table, where Elena has now opened her laptop and is typing furiously.

“Your coffee,” Max sets it down beside her.

Elena murmurs something in Russian under her breath before closing her laptop screen almost all the way, and then, “thank you, Max. Every day I get emails.”

“Are you staying at Anastasia’s?” Max asks as he settles into the seat across the small, circular table from Elena.

“She doesn’t know I’m here, actually,” Elena grimaces, “but I’ll need to meet up with her tomorrow, simply to run some business by her.”

Elena is an expert scammer-- always has been, always will be. She can easily sidestep Anastasia and Pietor alike. She can do a little twirl while doing so. It makes Max nervous how easily she is able to stay out of reach of Anastasia’s momentary wrath, red and jagged, because he does not put it past the older sister to hurt Elena. Max could never keep out of her grasp-- he has just gotten out of it.

Anyway.

“I’ve got a hotel room, and you’re welcome to stay with me.”

“Weird, I also have a hotel room,” she raises her eyebrows when Max laughs, “what’s so funny big guy?”

“Is it the usual hotel?”

“Yes-- oh my God, we’re in the same hotel, huh?”

“In all seriousness, we should probably not keep doing this. Anastasia could--”

“Listen, Max,” Elena’s smile drops and she leans forward on her elbows, “I know she’s has a lot of issues. But cut her some slack, okay? She’s not a monster.”

Max is taken aback for a moment, so he just sips on his coffee.

“I know it’s asking a lot of you two. I haven’t brought it up to her yet, but I want you two to get along. Okay? If we are going to be together for a while I’m going to expect more cooperation than Christmastime dinners.”

Max nods, “yes, of course.”

“Anastasia is a bad person. But she’s my sister. It’s like your dad, okay? But  _ I _ can’t get rid of her.”

_ Trauma bonding _ , thinks Max, but he doesn’t dare offer it aloud.

“Let’s have a good afternoon and a good evening. And tomorrow I have an appointment with Anastasia, and tomorrow you fly out.”

“Are you asking me to be tame?” He smirks.

Elena takes a long swig of her coffee, “I’m asking both of you to stop being so messy.”

Max shrugs, accepting it.

“Now,” she says, reaching across the table to take Max’s hand as she looks over her shoulder out the water-streaked window, “it’s raining. Rain washes away, correct? Let’s keep it this way.”

**Author's Note:**

> again i must specify that i truly do not know what's going on timeline-wise so i place these messy hoes in present. thanks 4 reading


End file.
